


Just the Two

by bioloyg



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agent Widow, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, PWP, Smut, Snowed In, bc i had to, idk how to tag this, it's vague but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/pseuds/bioloyg
Summary: "Natasha comes to with a harsh breath inward, hands up like a shield in a millisecond. Where she expects a man in a lab coat she finds nothing, and when she remembers snow, all she sees is the innards of a quaint cabin. She looks down at her body to catalogue and finds that she’s mostly bare, but much of what skin is free of clothing is covered in bandages. Her ribs are black and blue, which she expected, and her shoulder has stitches, which she did not."~Natasha finds herself in uncharted territory after a mission gone wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing here, one rare pair should've been enough for me.

The last thing Natasha remembers is being poised in the tree, ready to fire. She was careful; she mapped out the area weeks in advance, made sure that she never left a trace. And yet here she is, thirty feet below the branch she made herself at home in with a bullet lodged somewhere in her shoulder. At least it _was_ a bullet when it hit her. Knowing the business, it was probably a hollow-point, handcrafted, untraceable – something that will have shattered and broken to bits in her skin.

That isn’t even the worst part though. She’s been shot before, graze wounds, one straight through her torso. What’s keeping her from moving right now, aside from playing dead, is the fact that she broke something when she fell. She’s lucky there was a snow drift beneath her. Had it not been there she would’ve broken a lot more.

It’s her ribs, she thinks. One of her ribs is broken. Breathing hurts, and not in the way it does when you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. Natasha has a high pain tolerance, but even this is a bit much, enough for her vision to begin to grey at the edges. She curses inwardly. She should have known something was wrong when the envoy was late.

 _Fuck_.

She must have been spotted. Retracing her steps to figure out _when_ is impossible right now, though. Between the throbbing in her shoulder, the pain radiating across the left side of her torso, and the chill from the snow seeping into her clothing Nat has very little energy to devote to anything that isn’t breathing or listening for someone coming to get her.

But, as time passes and snow collects around her, that doesn’t seem to be the case. This would be great news if Natasha could move, but as soon as she tries a sharp, bright pain slices up her thigh and makes itself so present she can taste it. It takes everything in her power not to make a sound then, and even still something escapes. A squeak – like an injured kit.

Natasha pays for her bold attempt at movement. She’s capable of ignoring injuries that would hurt most humans her size, but even _she_ has limits. This seems to be one of them. Her head swims as she fights to figure a way out of this, but eventually she fades, and the world dims.

~

 _Natalia_ …

 

 

Natasha comes to with a harsh breath inward, hands up like a shield in a millisecond. Where she expects a man in a lab coat she finds nothing, and when she remembers snow, all she sees is the innards of a quaint cabin. She looks down at her body to catalogue and finds that she’s mostly bare, but much of what skin is free of clothing is covered in bandages. Her ribs are black and blue, which she expected, and her shoulder has stitches, which she did _not_.

She quickly looks to the left, searching for something to wield should anyone come back in. Much to her surprise she finds a knife. Not just any knife, _her_ knife. She snatches it from the counter beside her and slowly brings herself to sit up. The movement sends pain radiating through her body once more, but she lets out shallow breaths and forces herself to work through it. She manages to get into a sitting position, but her body is in enough pain that she’s broken out in a light sweat.

_Good for nothing, **weak** – _

A door closes somewhere else inside the house, catching Natasha’s attention. She tries to assess the full extent of the damage done to her, how long she’d survive a fight against a healthy adult of _any_ stature, as well as how far she could get after the fact. Her odds don’t look good. A sneak attack might work though, if she could move fast enough to hide.

The decision is taken out of her hands when a voice, warm and calm, says, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stab me in my own kitchen.”

Nat’s fingers flutter on the handle of the blade and she readjusts her grip. She doesn’t say a word, just keeps her hands up and her eyes peeled. She’s met with the last person she expects to see. A woman of similar build as herself, long blonde hair, pale skin, and sharp, keen eyes. She doesn’t seem to fit in with any of the surrounding inhabitants of the area, so Natasha figures she’s looking at a visitor. Maybe the same kind of visitor she is.

The woman holds her hands out, showing their emptiness. “Do you mind if I get something out of the fridge? It _is_ my house after all.”

Natasha’s stance wavers, but only because of how weak she feels. She makes a point not to let it show. However, when she speaks she feels every bit of it. “Who are you?”

“Names aren’t important,” the woman answers breezily. She doesn’t hesitate to move through the kitchen despite her earlier show of caution. Natasha surmises that the woman is dangerous enough not to be worried about how dangerous her company is.

Natasha keeps her gaze trained on the blonde, but props herself against the counter she found herself on in order to conserve as much energy as possible. She thinks of what to say next, but again the woman speaks first. “You should be more careful when you’re climbing trees out here.”

The woman turns abruptly, enough so that Nat brings her armed hand up again. The woman smiles and lifts an eyebrow. “If I was going to hurt you don’t you think I would’ve done it already? Or tied you up, at the very least.”

“Some people like to play with their food.”

She shrugs. “Got me there.” With a bottle in hand she turns back toward the fridge and cabinets and reaches for a cup from the shelf. As she pours the drink she says, “Want any?”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s not poisoned,” the woman lilts.

Nat snorts, ignores the ache is causes, and says, “That sounds oddly suspicious.”

The woman turns and takes a long swig of the liquid in her glass. Juice. Or maybe alcohol. She presses her lips together for a moment before speaking again. “I suppose it does.” After a breath outward she says, “Seriously, relax. Just looking at how tense you are makes my ribs hurt.”

Natasha chances a look down. The bruising is pretty bad. Hitting branches on the way down will do that to you. “I’ll relax when I’m gone.”

The woman lets out an amused huff. “Hate to tell ya, but it’ll be a while.” At Natasha’s unconvinced glare she nods, puts the glass in her hand down, and walks to the front door.

She swings it open and then looks at Natasha as the wind rolls inward, the icy air slicing right through her skin. “It’s a pretty bad storm. Even if I gave you my best coats, you’d never make it. Not in your condition.”

“Why do you care?”

“Dead animals attract bears,” she answers plainly. “Also, I know you’re here to take care of a problem a lot of us want rid of.” She shuts the door.

Natasha ignores the goosebumps that have sprung up on her skin and says, “I don’t have a snow plow, if it’s the snow you’re concerned about.”

A smile spreads across the woman’s face, brightening her features. There’s something oddly attractive about her, a certain wit evident in her eyes. “I’ve lived here long enough that the snow is the least of my concerns.”

“Have you now?”

“Yes,” the woman replies. “Now, are you going to let me check your stitches or are you going to point a knife at me until you pass out again.”

 _Again_?

With narrowed eyes, Natasha says, “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” she answers. “But you can trust your instincts, can’t you?” With that she heads back toward the drink waiting for her on the counter.

Natasha supposes she has a point. While uncomfortable in uncharted territory such as this, Natasha doesn’t feel unsafe. In fact, she feels relatively secluded. Both because of the snow and the unassuming insides of this house. She carefully studies the woman across from her once again. She’s tall. Muscled in a way that’s noticeable through the long sleeve she’s wearing, but not so much as to cause concern, she also has a few scars here and there. It strikes Natasha as odd that this woman would help her at all. She seems like a lone wolf.

Regardless, the woman has a point. She passes Nat’s sniff test. She very well _could_ have killed Natasha, and she didn’t have to patch her up either. Though… the fact that this woman found her at all is a little odd. The woman must sense this because she says, “If not, I can always call Coulson. That tends to help more often than not.”

Nat scowls, words forming but not soon enough. The blonde holds up a hand and says, “You don’t think the tooth fairy sends you intel, do you?”

“No, I always thought it was the abominable snowman.”

A smile plays at the woman’s lips. “I hear he’s in Sweden, nowadays.” When Nat says nothing, she says, “So, about those stitches…”

~

The most Natasha finds out about the woman housing her is that she’s the infamous Agent 13. Nothing more and nothing less. It makes sense, now that Natasha knows. Agent 13 has been to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters before, just not when Nat was around. Still, Natasha heard stories, saw glimpses. It’s been years though.

As Natasha adjusts herself into as comfortable position as she can, she asks, “How did you find me?”

13 looks up from where she was reading some sort of file, old by the looks of it. “Exactly how you think.”

“Woman’s intuition?”

She smiles. “Your last known coordinates according to your communicator.” Nat hums in understanding and 13 continues. “You missed a check in, so someone called me to go look around.”

“How long was I out?”

“Two days. You heal fast.”

Natasha sighs. Two days? That’s a lot for her, she really needs to get with the program. She rubs a hand over her face and says, “Not fast enough.”

The agent looks at her, eyebrows cast downward in confusion. “Healing a fractured leg in two days isn’t quick enough for you?”

Nat looks away from where her eyes were trained on the trees outside. She absently says, “I have other things to do.”

“Yeah, and there are other people to do them.”

Frowning, Natasha says, “Most of them can’t.”

“But some can.”

Natasha sighs, annoyed. “Of course there are, but –”

“But nothing,” 13 says, cutting in. “You’re useless to the team if you’re dead. Better you’re out for a week – which is a small amount of time for us humans by the way – instead of being out of commission permanently.”

A sharp grin cuts across Natasha’s features. “I’m not much use here, either.”

“Oh, but you are,” the agent says. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and leans forward to grab one of the other files on the coffee table in front of her. “You speak Russian, don’t you?”

“How did you –” Coulson… right. Nat takes a short breath inward and says, “I might. Why?”

The woman smiles. “Because I’m rusty and this would go a lot faster with someone who knows the language better than I do. Google translate is useless for anything outside of party tricks.”

“Shouldn’t you be worried about giving me sensitive information?”

The woman looks up from the page she was looking at. “I said it was in Russian, not that it would make any sense to you. Just because you can read a string of words doesn’t mean you’ll know the meaning behind the sentence or phrase. Besides, I know who you are, you could have this information in a heartbeat if it was at all interesting to you.”

Natasha takes as deep a breath as she can manage while looking at 13. She’s not sure she enjoys knowing so little about someone who seems to know a lot about her. Their spheres never crossed until now, so there was no point for Natasha to learn anything more than what cases Agent 13 helped to solve or the information she helped to obtain. It would’ve been a waste of energy and time. And yet… she finds she’s a little disappointed by the fact that she didn’t read up on their resident secret agent. Granted, it would have taken some very illegal maneuvers, but what are spies for if not their illegality?

“What’s in it for me?” Natasha asks, already sticking her hand out for the file.

13 holds it just above Natasha’s grasp. “Something to do. You look bored out of your mind.”

Nat lets out an amused huff. “So you’re giving me work?” She still takes the file.

“No one said you had to do it.”

The agent stands up and heads into the other room. As she passes the entryway into the next she says, “Want anything to eat yet, or are you still afraid I’m going to kill you?”

Nat reads out the words before her under her breath and almost answers in Russian. She catches herself, then says, “Depends on how bad you cook.”

She earns herself a laugh and a catty response. “Better than you could right now.”

“For all you know, I’m an amazing cook.”

The agent comes back around the corner with an eyebrow poised in disbelief. “I have a hard time believing that.”

Nat finds herself smiling, and then scowls once she notices. This might be Agent 13, and she may have saved Natasha, but that still means nothing about her loyalty or trustworthiness. After a quick mental breath, Natasha looks back at the file in front of her and drowns herself in it.

~

It’s been two days. Two _more_ days anyway.

Agent 13 is hospitable, hasn’t tried anything suspicious, and has helped cleaned what wounds Natasha still has left. It’s weird. Natasha keeps looking for something to make her more… dislikable. Some sort of character flaw or sign of ill will, but there’s nothing, not even the shadow of one.

She doesn’t seem like a morning person, but that’s not the same thing as wishing a whole subset of people were dead. She likes orange juice with pulp in it, but again: not a major flaw. It’s frustrating because Natasha doesn’t like how much she’s endeared by her, or the fact that she finds 13’s morning bedhead oddly cute. She especially doesn’t like the way her pulse quickens when Agent 13 smiles.

 _You don’t even know her **name**_ , her thoughts remind her. _She’s just being a good host, it’s her job._

Agent 13 walks out of her room with her arms stretched above her head. She clasps them together and rolls her shoulders back until they pop, sighing once she’s finished. When she opens her eyes, she seems a bit surprised to see Natasha. “Almost forgot you were here.”

“I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Her lips thin into a straight line. “That’s not –” she seems to think better of whatever was on the other side of that sentence and then says, “I think I can take your stitches out today. Wouldn’t want your skin to heal around them.”

Nat takes a deep breath. “Just give me some wire cutters.”

“And let you tear them out yourself?” She laughs and rolls her eyes. After a quick departure from the room she comes back with a box in hand and says, “I’m not letting you ruin all my hard work.”

“I’m perfectly capable of removing stitches from arm,” Natasha says, voice flat.

Agent 13 brushes the comment off and sits down on the coffee table right in front of Natasha. She sets the box in her hands down, then starts to rummage through it. “Shirt off.”

“I can handle it.”

“ _Shirt_ ,” she repeats.

Nat rolls her eyes and lifts the shirt off, muttering, “You could at least say please.”

The agent responds with nothing more than a pointed look and then urges Nat to move into a more suitable position. Her hands are warm, but they send a shiver down Natasha’s spine. Goosebumps raise from the dead, uninvited but present nonetheless.

Natasha scolds herself inwardly and digs her nails into her palms as 13 slowly threads the wire out of skin. She doesn’t even notice she’d started to hold her breath until the agent says, “There.”

 _Thank fuck_.

Natasha stands up abruptly, almost knocking down the box that was precariously perched on the edge of the table. She clears her throat and says, “I’m going to shower.” She hopes that if she sticks her head into cold water that all the warm and buzzing thoughts of intimacy will hide themselves away in a corner looking for sanctuary.

13 looks up, eyes just a tad too wide, and says, “You know where the towels are.”

When she gets into the bathroom, she locks the door and leans up against it. The privacy does the exact opposite of what Natasha hoped it would though. Being alone with her thoughts where no one can see her makes them feel twice as loud. She pushes off the door and then braces herself on the edge of the sink.

As she looks in the mirror she thinks to herself, _Get it together. Has it really been so long since you’ve gotten laid that you’re lusting after some woman you barely know?_ Natasha’s grip on the porcelain tightens. _You don’t know her. She doesn’t know you. Leave it._

 ** _But isn’t that what you love?_** a traitorous corner of her mind says, countering. **_It’s not like you knew any of those other women, either_**.

Nat squeezes her eyes shut and turns on the shower. As the icy water washes over her skin she tries to banish the thoughts at the edges of her mind that involve her and 13 getting acquainted with one another. She tries not to think about how if _anyone_ could keep up with her in bed, it would be Agent 13. When that doesn’t seem to work she turns her face directly into the spray. What water she gets in her mouth she spits out, and what counter arguments pop in in her mind she squashes.

After Natasha’s dried herself off, she opens the door and finds a new set of clothes waiting for her. She clenches her teeth together and then picks up the offered pajamas, taking them back into the bathroom with her to change. It’s a little disconcerting that she’s getting used to the smell of whatever laundry soap it is that 13 uses.

Natasha stabs that thought with another particularly pointed one.

The house is oddly empty when Natasha finally slinks out of the bathroom. She listens carefully for a noise and determines that the agent is in her room. Doing what, Nat’s not sure, and she tells herself it doesn’t matter. She occupies herself with looking out the window, hoping to god the snow storm will have subsided. No such luck. The snowfall isn’t as dramatic as it was the past two days, but the surrounding area is covered in so much white that any distinguishable features are gone. Her GPS is only good for so much.

“You should be able to leave by the end of the week,” a voice says, not too far behind her.

Nat jolts, not noticeably to any outsider but enough so that she’s annoyed with herself. Annoyed that she’s somehow settled enough for 13 to slip past her radar. She looks at 13’s reflection in the glass and says, “I could leave by tomorrow if I had the proper gear.”

“You’d get lost.”

“There you go caring again,” Nat says with a sigh. She turns around. “I’m a big girl, Agent. I can handle it.”

13 crosses her arms and cocks out her hip. “Who knew the infamous Black Widow had a death wish.”

A sad smile plays at Natasha’s lips. “I died _years_ ago.” She looks away and lets out a short breath. “How much of my gear did you take from where you found me?”

“None of it. It was still up in a tree I wasn’t about to climb.”

 _Fuck_.

“My gun?”

The agent lets out an exasperated sigh. “Buried. Just like you were.”

“What, were you _worried_?” Natasha jokingly asks.

 What she’s not expecting when she turns back is the frown so clearly etched into Agent 13’s face. The woman turns her head away for a moment, brows furrowed. “Look, if you want to get yourself killed then be my guest. Just try to do it somewhere I won’t have to come and find you again.”

With that she breezes past Natasha and into the kitchen. Nat feels like she lost something in translation there – missed a turn on their conversational path and hit a dead end. She turns and looks toward where the agent is digging around the fridge. “No one said you had to find me.”

13 stands up and rests her hand on top of the open fridge door, her fingers burn white. “I wasn’t going to let you die.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“You were _blue_ ,” she snaps.

Nat takes a deep breath and wracks her brain. She’s missing something. What is she missing? What is 13 saying – or rather, what _isn’t_ she? “You seem to know a lot about me. If that’s _really_ the case, you’d also know that I’ve been lost in the snow many times before.”

“Doesn’t make a frozen body any more pleasant to look at.” The agent shuts the refrigerator door and sets the contents she grabbed onto the counter. “Now, unless you need something, I’m going to make dinner, and I prefer to do it alone.”

“As you wish,” Natasha says, turning back towards the living area.

~

Natasha hears it in the middle of the night, a choked off scream. She’s up almost instantly, grabbing the knife beside the couch as she goes. The sound continues, something like a struggle on the other side of the door to Agent 13’s room. She gently presses a hand to the cracked open door, waiting just a moment to assess the situation, then throws it open.

Instead of two people in a fight, she finds one – still fighting, but only herself. Natasha sighs. Nightmares. She should leave, turn around and go back to her spot on the couch where she was staring at the ceiling dying of boredom.

She doesn’t though, and she curses herself for what she does next. She sets the knife in her hand on the bedside table and then brushes her hand over the agent’s forehead and up into her hair. As much as Natasha would like to be as far away from this situation right now, she always wished someone would wake her from her own nightmares – bring her back to a place where she could actually rest. A night where sleep wasn’t a dream in and of itself.

13 stiffens beneath her touch, but eventually she settles. Only when her breathing has evened out does Natasha remove her hand and leave. No sooner does she make it to the door, the agent sleepily says, “Don’t forget your knife.”

Natasha can’t sleep after that. Every few minutes she’ll glance in the direction of 13’s room and her chest will constrict. She’s not sure if she’s embarrassed that she got caught, or if she’s embarrassed she allowed herself to help at all. She’s halfway through an argument with herself when she hears the door to 13’s room creak and open.

“Can’t sleep,” a voice says, cutting through the darkness. Its owner materializes in front of the coffee table, across from Nat. “Mind if I sit out here with you?”

Natasha pulls her legs up and then sits up. “Not at all. S’your house.”

“Not exactly,” 13 says. She slumps into the couch and kicks her feet up onto the table. After a few minutes of silence, she says, “You ever get tired of this?”

“What?” Nat asks, though she has a feeling she knows exactly _what_.

13 turns to look at her. “This job, what it does to you. What it does to personal relationships.”

After a deep breath, Natasha says, “I’ve done it for so long that I don’t notice anymore.” _Lie_.

An amused huff falls past the agent’s lips. “I guess you have, huh?” She looks away and says, “I used to read about you as a kid. Always thought it was so weird how you’d disappear and then reappear looking the same as ever, twenty years later.”

“I feel like you have an unfair advantage here. You know everything about me, and I know next to nothing about you.”

“That’s not true,” she says, and Natasha can just barely make out her smile. “You know my name – you just haven’t made the connection yet.”

That makes Natasha pause. She runs through everything she knows about “Agent 13” and then she runs through all the faceless people she has names for. It’s not until she thinks about the first time she saw a glimpse of the fabled Agent 13 that she remembers.

“ _No_.”

“Yep,” she says, popping the p.

“Carter?”

“Mhmm.”

“ _Peggy’s_ Carter?”

She turns. “One in the same.”

“No wonder she was always up the wall about what you were doing.”

Sharon snorts. “She’s the reason I was doing any of it at all.”

Nat looks at her. _Really_ looks. “So what are you doing out here then?”

She smiles placidly. “I’m on vacation.”

“Some vacation.”

“You should try and take one sometime.” She looks Nat over. “You look like you could use it.”

Nat laughs. “I’m on vacation right now.”

“Still tense.”

“Being in a stranger’s house will do that to you.”

Sharon raises her eyebrows. “You’ve gotten blood all over me and you’re wearing my shirt. We’re hardly strangers at this point.”

Natasha smirks. “Blame it on the snowstorm, then.”

“Stopped snowing hours ago.”

“Maybe it’s just you then,” Nat says quietly. She’s not sure why she doesn’t stop herself. Too late now, she supposes.

Sharon turns toward her on the couch. “I feel like it should be the other way around.”

“What makes you say that?”

With a shrug, she says, “You’re an assassin.”

“I _was_ an assassin.”

Sharon shakes her head, smiling. “You may have better reasons now, but you’re still a hired hand.”

Nat tsighs. “So what does that make you?”

“Same as you,” she says after a beat.

“No reason to be afraid then.”

A devilish grin replaces the soft one that was on Sharon’s face a moment ago. “I never said I was afraid.”

 _I am_ , Natasha thinks. _For you_.

They seem to list towards each other but just before they meet Sharon says, “Thanks for waking me up from that nightmare.”

Nat catches herself and pulls back. “Sure thing.”

Sharon backs away too and then gets up. Just before she gets to her room she says, “Sleep tight, Natasha.”

~

When it happens Natasha is surprised she lasted so long. It was a test of will – but she had no idea it was so two-sided.

All it takes is another sleepless night, another talk on the sofa trading highly doctored stories. Nat’s not even sure who initiated it, all she knows is that one moment she and Sharon are laughing about something and the next Sharon’s in her lap.

Natasha slips her hands under Sharon’s shirt and holds onto her hips as they kiss. _Didn’t even make it a week_ , her brain says. She doesn’t care though. Not with Sharon’s fingers tangled in her hair, and certainly not with the way Sharon kisses like she might be able to steal Nat’s breath away.

In between one kiss and the next Sharon says, “Not exactly how I saw this week going.”

Natasha captures her lips one more time and then slips her shirt off. “Was there more or less clothing?”

Sharon laughs but the sound quickly turns into a sharp gasp when Natasha bites down on her collar bone. She pulls Natasha back by her hair and dips down to kiss her, but hesitates at the last second. “Definitely less.”

Natasha hooks Sharon’s legs around her and stands up. Sharon’s breath catches in her throat, no doubt surprised. “Gonna carry me to bed?”

“I’m gonna do a lot more than that,” Nat says as she walks them to the bedroom.

Sharon leans in and mouths at her neck. “That’s awful presumptuous of you.”

As soon as they’re in the room Nat drops her onto the bed and crawls over her. She looks Sharon over and says, “How presumptuous can it be if you’re the one that climbed in my lap?”

“ _Climbed_? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Her breath hitches when Natasha gets close. “Besides, you’re the one that pulled me into it.”

Nat lets her lips brush against Sharon’s and then she whispers, “Then tell me when to stop.”

Their nect kiss is nowhere near as languid as the first. It’s sharp, and hot, and sends a frisson of pleasure zipping down Nat’s spine. She breaks away for a moment, but only to continue her path downward. Each kiss is gentle, from Sharon’s jaw down to the top of her breast. Natasha mouths at her nipple, gauging the response it earns her and then sucks it into her mouth. Sharon lets out a breathy noise, one that Nat decides isn’t loud enough.

As Nat continues kissing a path down Sharon’s torso, she marks the way the muscles twitch just beneath her touch. That slight jolt that not even the anticipation can curb. Just when Natasha reaches Sharon’s shorts, she’s pulled up by her hair. “What about you?” Sharon asks.

“What about me?” Nat responds offhandedly as she slips the shorts down Sharon’s legs. There’s no underwear for her to slip off with them, which Natasha is entirely too pleased about.

She pulls Sharon closer by her legs, and then hooks them over her shoulders. Sharon’s breathing has picked up, just a bit, and when she looks down at Nat she says, “I’m feeling a little underdressed.”

With a smile, Natasha kisses the inside of Sharon’s thigh. “You’ll forget about that in a minute.”

Sharon’s head falls back onto the bed and she chuckles. “Is that so?”

 _Yes_ , Nat thinks as she lets her tongue do the talking. Sharon doesn’t seem to have any arguments about that, nor does she object when Nat adds a finger, and then another. In fact, despite Natasha’s earlier invitation to stop, she’s met with a very strained, “ _Don’t stop_.”

As Sharon’s thighs tense around her, Natasha digs her fingers into them, hoping she leaves a mark. She changes the pace, too, and just when she thinks that Sharon’s getting close she pulls away. She’s met with an exasperated sigh. “I should’ve seen that coming.”

Nat slides two fingers back into Sharon and says, “I think that’s my line.”

After a stifled moan Sharon looks up, her eyes narrowed. “There should be a rule against – _fuck_ – teasing the person that saved you.”

Natasha chooses that moment to rub her thumb over Sharon’s clit as she thrusts her fingers inward again. She curls the two of them, hoping to find that spot, and smiles when Sharon shivers ever so slightly. “This isn’t teasing.”

“Well it’s not nice,” Sharon says between a gasp.

Nat draws her fingers out slowly and then pushes them back in. Slow and hard, insistent but courteous. She lowers herself back down between Sharon’s legs and says, “I can be nice, but I think you’d like it better if I wasn’t.”

She doesn’t get to hear Sharon’s answer to that either. If Sharon _did_ answer Natasha loses it in the moan she’s met with as she slides her tongue into Sharon alongside her fingers.

~

Back in the states, long after her mission abroad, and long after all the paperwork is filed she gets a call. Without looking she picks it up and says, “Yeah?”

Sharon laughs. “Do you ever check to see who’s calling?”

A smile forms on Natasha’s lips. “Don’t need to.”

“Is that so.”

“ _Mhmm_. You’re the only person that calls me while I’m in the office.” Natasha gets up from where she was sitting and walks into an empty conference room. She doesn’t mention the fact that she has a different ringtone for Sharon. “What’d you need?”

Sharon lets out a deep breath and says, “You left your knife at my place in D.C. the last time you came over.”

“Guess I’ll have to come by to get it,” Natasha says, her voice low and inviting.

“You should. Wouldn’t want to keep you two apart. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Early morning. I have some work to catch up on.”

Nat’s smile grows sharp. “Anything I can help you with?”

“If you’re nice,” Sharon answers, teasing.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr [@zamnwilson](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed :)


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